Glad You Came
by KyinHI
Summary: Post-Always. Firmly in M territory now. - Making love for a second time comes easy. It's gentle and full. Slow and effortless. They take their time becoming aware of the other, discovering hidden secrets and reveling in unadulterated emotion.
1. Chapter 1

**So.. _Always_ happened. Have you stopped watching it on a constant loop yet? I haven't.**

**My self-inflicted fan-fic hiatus is officially over! I simply cannot not write something after that. So here you go. My re-hashing of what we saw, and soon to come, my imaginations of what we didn't.. Rawwwr!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned then they wouldn't be... oh..wait... what the hell is supposed to go here now Caskett is doing the deed? At any rate, I still don't own them. Wish I did. **

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As she confesses it all in just a handful of simple words she feels the vise grip release. The constant tug and pull of unvoiced feelings finally, _finally,_ allowed free. She hopes it's enough but worries it isn't. His eyes show disbelief, fear; hot and coiling anger and confusion. So much pain she has inflicted on him. But his hitching breath, and the pulse rapidly thrumming in his wrist, under her tight grasp, speak of hope. Still softly burning, somewhere under all the pain she has caused, she feels hope.

"I just want you.."

She lunges for him, stops herself before he can pull away again. Her mouth hovers a breath from his but he makes no move to close the distance. He holds back and her heart breaks. Is this what he has been experiencing for four years? While he has waited for her to take off the blinders? She's been so very wrong. Blinded by a misguided search for the truth. It hasn't been _her_ life since he waltzed in with his cocky smile and tender heart. Since he doggedly poked at her cracks and insistently pounded the rhythm back into her heart.

His gaze bores into her, trying to gauge the truth in her words. The meaning of her actions. She finds she has nothing else to say. 'I love you' would feel contrived in this moment. She thinks it might be exactly the wrong thing to say. He'd said it twice and she'd ignored his plea in her anger. The last thing she wants is for him to do the same. And so she waits, fingers twitching and pulse pounding in her throat.

Her hand raises, her fingertips reaching toward his lips. It's uncontrollable. A memento. 'Just in case,' she thinks. In case this is where it ends. It reminds her of so long ago in the freezer.

_I just want you to know how much I.. _

How much she wants him. Only him. She never made it last time, never got to tell him. Cold overtook her and forced her to the black before she had the chance. But he knows now. 'At least he knows,' she thinks. She makes contact and it burns down her arm, sets her heart fluttering in her chest as the hardness in his eyes turns to fire. To hunger and desire.

But before she can drown in his stare, she's skidding across the floor and pushed against the door with a resounding thud. A momentary pang of fire shoots across her shoulders, the muscles over-taxed and bruised from her struggle on the roof, from hanging onto the ledge. It's gone in an instant as his mouth descends on hers, as he makes his way down her jaw. She runs her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck and guides him lower. Light stubble grazes her neck and a gasp escapes her lips. She feels it all the way to her toes. Long shut-off feelings sparking back to life. It's never been like this.

His ministrations are brutal and possessive, hungry. It's not even close to what she had expected when she'd knocked on the door. The walk from the swings to his apartment had cemented her faith that he was what she wanted, what she needed. But she had thought perhaps long overdue conversations and light, teasing banter would ensue. Tentative, first steps. She'd even entertained the ridiculous notion of watching those movies with him. The usual game of dipping in toes and then retreating to safe places. She'd been counting on the fact that he was 'Castle'. That he was loyal to a fault and forgiving of all sins when it came to her. However, all thoughts of pacing on her part had gone out the window when he'd addressed her so coldly, her last name spurring her into action, making her reach for his face and pull his mouth to hers. Desperate and slightly wild.

If this is his retaliation, a hostile takeover, she will let him have it his way. There's nothing left to lose. Her killer is gone; back into the shadows. Her job is gone; thrown away with a smile, at the realization that being a cop isn't what defines her anymore. Her wall... Obliterated when he had walked away, said they were over and meant it. Not really an issue for months now anyway, if she's honest with herself.

And if she's going to be brutally honest, she may as well admit his hands roughly gripping her sides and his mouth dragging his teeth down her neck, biting at her pulse point, toward her clavicle, and lower, is fulfilling many a late night fantasy.

'Go with it, Kate' she tells herself, arching into his touch, biting into his shoulder. 'Talk later.'

His mouth leaves a warm trail of moisture along her sternum, between her breasts. His lips press firmly against her, creating a suction, drawing her in. Like he's trying to breathe in her very essence and take away her pain. It's then that she realizes he's fixating on the puckered mark. Knowingly or not, Kate's not sure, but it causes her to chest to heave as she intakes an uneven breath.

It's then that he stills. His breath coming in ragged pants, his forehead resting against her chest for a moment before drawing back, his mouth hanging slack in shock. His gaze, transfixed and spellbound. Reverently he goes for the buttons on her shirt, peeling away the fabric and revealing the small reminder of such immeasurable pain.

But she won't let their fear define them anymore. She is alive, she is whole and her heart pumps strong and steady. She takes his hand and places his palm flat on her chest. She covers it with her own and wraps her fingers gently around his, squeezes and holds the deep creases of his heart-line in place over her scar. The pads of his fingers rest gently at her throat. Her other hand rises to touch his face, her fingers playing at the dimple in his chin, tracing the line of his jaw. Perfect.

It feels right this way. Linked and connected by hands and mouths and hearts. It's not raw want, but a deep-seated need. Sweet and delicate, a press of lips. Soft tugs and gossamer touches. Love and reciprocation. She hopes he can feel it, believe it.

Truth conquers all. She'd chosen the inscription in the spur of the moment, at the request of her father who had looked to her broken and simply said, "I can't." She'd thought he couldn't decide in that moment, that the options were too great. A long list of latin phrases ready to be carved into stone. And so she had chosen the one that stood out to her. It had been a promise to her mother; a vow to herself. She never realized, not until sitting on the swings in the rain and the fog with an empty seat beside her, that the truth she had so desperately been searching for wasn't answers or justice for her mother. Solitary in the deluge, with the city behind her blurred away and the fog creating eerie silence, one phrase kept repeating in her mind.

'I can't.'

Can't breathe at the thought of it being truly over. Can't imagine a world without him in it. Can't imagine being _herself_ without him. Can't bear the thought of yet another lost opportunity. Not anymore. She'd found her truth and it was him. He was her light. Guiding her away from harm and leading the way.

He is her constant. A source of strength and courage. The voice in her head when all was lost and the end was certain. Always.

And now, as he pulls back slightly with hooded eyes and soft breaths, she thinks he's found it again too. Found the truth. Love. In her.

"_Veritas Omnia Vincit." - "Truth Conquers All"_

_'_Even emotionally delayed, communication-challenged idiots,' she thinks with a smile as she twines her fingers with his and leads him toward the bedroom.

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**Shout-outs to Avi, for being a kick-ass beta on the fly and flail partner. I didn't think anyone could put my flail to shame. I might have been wrong. It's a close call between the two of us. And to Nicole, for not being mad at me for posting this without her getting to do her usual job of ass-kicking. You're not mad right? _Right?_ Love you McRib!**

**See that button down there? It almost feels like 'shutting the front door' when you click on it and send me a review. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Still don't own them. Still haven't recovered. 'Always' is an illness. This and the next chapter coming up I have affectionately named the "I can't with the can" chapters.**

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She pulls him by the hand, teeth digging seductively into her lower lip, eyes shining and clear. He's never seen her look so open, so free. And that's when it hits him. But he _has _seen this look. The force of her emotion and the reality of her confession, punches him in the gut. He _knows_ this look, has seen it a hundred times before. Maybe more. He's seen it handing over coffee and bickering over paperwork. He's seen it over burgers and bad puns. He's seen it when she thought he wasn't looking. He realizes that he's seen it for years and perhaps she wasn't the only one who hadn't been paying attention. _Oh God! _He'd seen it that summer, two years ago when she'd asked if they could talk for a second and he'd walked away with his ex-wife.

'Shit,' he thinks. 'Talk about opening your eyes, Rick.'

He's been such a fool these last few weeks. Months. Years. He'd genuinely believed she didn't feel the same as he did. He'd let his ego and his pride blind him to the work she's been doing to be ready for him. For them. Not until a week ago, when her roundabout confession of remembering the shooting, had flared hope in his heart and sent nervous twitches to his fingers, did he ever even dare to hope she had felt the same. He had suspected at times, of course, but he had gradually let her protective measures and evasions sway him into thinking that this was a one-sided, unrequited and epic love story. He'd spent so much time propping her up on a pedestal. He'd lost sight of the fact that she was not only his muse, but that she was a woman first. A human being, with conflicted thoughts and feelings, same as him. Her tragic back-story wasn't just fodder for best-sellers, it was her life and he had taken for granted that she was letting him share it with her.

Two days ago, when he had asked her to join him in drowning his sorrows with bloody movies, he had thought they had finally reached their happy ending. And then she'd said that she would love to. Joy had surged in his chest with her flirty smile and all had been right in his world. Even when her case had reared its ugly head, he had thought everything would work out. He thought that he could protect her from it like a knight in shining armor. He'd buried his head and hidden in denial. He'd waxed poetic about happily ever after while activity betraying her trust. By doing so he'd unknowingly built his own wall as the last of hers had shattered.

His mind replays the past twenty four hours through his head on a loop. Unbridled hope, gut-wrenching fear, desperation and angry resolve to move on. And now, now it was a one-eighty back to joy. He should have forced this issue a year ago. Laid it all on the table and let her decide. And yet she is the one apologizing. She is the one who kept whispering for his forgiveness. It's enough to make his head swim and his vision blur.

He lets out a soft snort of incredulity. This woman is extraordinary. Why does she keep coming back to him? He knows exactly what they are now. They are eternal. A rubber band, sometimes twisted or pulled in opposite directions, sometimes uncertain if the weight can be bared, but eventually snapping back. Their foundation is strong, and yet so very simple. They will hold. Always.

She looks back and arches a brow. His fingers are still entwined with hers and she turns back, making swift progress, pulling him toward the bed.

His bed. 'Shit', he thinks.

He'd accused her of being blind. Told her she just needed to open her eyes. Pot meet kettle, Ricky boy. He needs to say things before they do this. Needs to let her know that he was in the wrong too. Start this with a clean slate. He squeezes her hand and stops her forward progression.

"Kate.." he husks, watching the sway of her hips, exaggerated and oh so alluring. God, he doesn't want to talk. But they should. They _really_ should. If ever there was a time for him to use his words, it was now. She turns and smiles openly at him and he feels her reading his eyes with her own. He's amazed that just a look could feel like this. He writes about it of course, it's a requirement of the genre. Pages upon pages of pretty words and beautiful prose. He is complimented on it. Praised about his grasp of the language of love, the way he merges mystery with romance. But he's never felt it. He's always found those scenes to be the most cumbersome. They are the ones that leave him pacing his office and heading out for coffee at 3am, frustrated and pent-up with agitation. They are the scenes that he'd suspected were written more out of longing than actual experience. A common human desire, almost impossible to actually achieve. The holy grail.

"Multitask." she states drolly, reaching down to undo the rest of the buttons on her shirt. Her gaze never retreats; the slight smirk never leaves her lips.

'Huh? No way. She can't have known what I was thinking,' he marvels.

But she does. Of course she does. They have the unspoken down pat. Subtext is their 'thing'. Show, don't tell. It's the first rule of writing and it has served them well. It has soothed slights and eased the pain of waiting. But it has also caused great misunderstanding and unnecessary pain. They'll have to work on that, he thinks. This isn't an imagination anymore. This is real life and she is here. She is ready. Finally.

He's still standing still, dumbfounded and rooted to his spot. Awed, that this is genuine and about to happen. He's highly aroused but powerless to act. It's a conundrum because every fiber in his being practically thrums with the need to surge into her, around her, over her. He aches to be engulfed by her. But his overactive mind holds his body steady, leaves his arms feeling like lead weights and his feet feeling like they are encased in concrete blocks.

"Rick..." she soothes, "I'm here. It's okay. We're doing this."

_She's here. _"You're here..." he breathes.

She's really here. He'd half expected to be getting a call tonight. _The_ call. The one that told him that she had finally fallen down the rabbit hole. Fallen too far, never to come back. He'd been ravaged with guilt after their argument in her apartment. He'd promised her 'Always' and reneged. The thought of losing her again had been too much and he had fled. He'd run so he wouldn't have to watch again. He can't watch that again. He just... can't. He'd purged her file from the smart board hoping to cleanse her from his soul. He's such a fool. Love is not a switch. The light had sparked even as he opened the door. Through the anger and the mistrust, all he had felt as she grasped his jaw and pulled him to her was the twisting coil of need in his guts. It had taken a feat of strength to pull back and confirm that she was indeed here for him and not for answers to her case. When she confessed that she had almost died, he realized that he could. He can. Because the only thing he can't live with, is the pain of not being by her side. If it kills him, if it kills her. It doesn't matter. He will never break that promise again.

"I'm here," she repeats, letting the shirt slip from her arms and flutter to the floor.

"I'm here." Again, as her hands deftly loosen the buckle of his belt.

"I'm here." As she untucks his shirt and begins to work on the buttons.

"Here…" she grins.

Oh jeez, she's _there, _a hand down the front of his jeans and it's all he needs to spur him into action.

"Katherine Beckett, the things I am going to do to you," he growls, backing her up to the edge off the bed, with one leg between her thighs.

"Show, don't tell," she smirks.

He really has to quit being surprised at her mind-reading abilities, it's killing his momentum.

"Oh, I'll show you," he grins, lunging down to place a wet kiss over the thin lace of her bra.

She moans and her nipple puckers between his lips. One push of his thigh and he could lower her to the mattress. So very close to where he wants to be. She throws her head back as he nibbles hungrily on her flesh, as he uses his teeth to push the fabric away. Her hair flies and beads of water drop from the soaked strands, land with cool splashes on the back of his neck. He startles at the sensation.

"Damn, you are so _wet_!" he exclaims innocently.

"You have no idea," she retorts right back.

It takes him a second.

After all, his mouth is on her breasts and her hand is gripping tightly on his ass. He is being engulfed by the scent of sandalwood and rain; he can't be expected to be firing on all cylinders right now. But when it finally hits him, he can't help it. A guttural laugh escapes his throat. It's loud and followed by a snort.

There's an upturn of her lips and a sparkle in her flashing, emerald eyes. A shared moment of recognition from their very first case. When she had first captivated him. And then she giggles. It sounds girlish and young, so unlike the no nonsense detective he is accustomed to. Even on her most playful of days, Katherine Beckett does _not_ giggle.

"Are you always this cheesy in the bedroom?" he asks, with a laugh.

"Always."

She says it playfully but he hears the promise in it, and the question. He had hurt her when he left but maybe it was exactly what was needed. The extra layer of meaning hangs in the air though. It's their word. Code for everything they haven't been ready to voice. Warmth suffuses through his chest. She sobers for a moment and she rests her palm against his cheek.

"Always," he confirms.

She nods, thoughtful, and he thinks he sees her mouthing "love you" out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't dwell on it. He decides it doesn't matter if she can't say it because he can feel the truth in her soft touch and he can see it in her darkened pupils.

"So..." she hedges, breaking the suddenly tense moment, "You coming, Castle?"

He groans. It seems she could go on with the bad puns all night. He's been a bad influence.

"I will be," he growls, picking her light frame right off her feet and throwing her back onto the mattress.

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**Drag it out much, Ky? Hahaha! Sorry. I keep intending to get them to bed and then get distracted by the warm and fuzziness of it all. **

**Nicole and Avi rock as always. They are also perverts. It's why I love them. And why you will too fairly soon. Chapter 3 is a good 80% written and they finally make it to the bed!**


	3. Chapter 3

**The 'can' of the "can't with the can" chapters. Amazing but true fact? Haven't managed to get Marlowe to hand them over to me in the last 12 hours. Also, we are firmly in M territory now. Avert ye eyes, young'uns!  
**

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Before she can stop him, she is lifted in the air and landing with a soft thud on his bed.

_Oh! She's done it now. _

The evil glint is back in his eye. The hungry fire is in his gaze and his breath comes out in heavy pants. He lowers himself over her, surrounds her. Completely covers her with his broad body and hooks a leg around one of her own.

"So... no idea?" he inquiries, a hand reaching between them, fumbling with the button on her jeans. Another, tangled in her hair, pulling her mouth to his in a hungry kiss.

"Mm.." she agrees, as he finally pops it free, she is incapable of words with her lower lip between his teeth.

The sound of her zipper falling is like music to her ears and the feel of his hand sliding in between the wet denim and damp satin is like Christmas morning; the anticipation of finally being about to receive a long awaited gift. He presses his fingertips into the soft flesh of her mound and her hips lift to meet him. He is maddening is his unwillingness to let her feel him where she needs it. He traces the elastic at the apex of her thighs and they quiver, _quiver,_ completely without her consent.

'This is the stuff dime-store paperbacks are made of', she thinks, wiggling to try and guide his fingers to a more central location.

He leaves a trail down her body, saliva and scrapes of his teeth. Reddening and mottling of skin where he pauses in his explorations to brand her. He traces the silvery line of the surgery incision and smiles. The scar, a testament to her recovery, her resilience; she's glad he doesn't dwell. He marks his territory with a dogged concentration, takes his time to find the nooks and crevices that most would gloss over. The inside of her elbow and the underside of her breasts. He drives her to the point of distraction.

Her jeans are tight and stick to her thighs, the heat radiating between them making it uncomfortable. She needs them off. Now. She needs him on top of her, skin to skin.

"Castle," she growls, reaching behind her back now that his mouth is lower still and her hands are free to unhook her bra.

"Shh," he says, his blue eyes glinting even brighter as the now distant thunderstorm lets off a dying flash of lightning that illuminates his features. "I'm relishing the moment," he says with his mouth against her navel.

She flings the bra at his head and as he fumbles to toss it aside, she uses the moment to roll the jeans down and to her knees. It's as far as she can go with him straddling her.

"Why are you still wearing clothes?" she asks as the moment of no return nears, as butterflies dance in her belly.

"Mighty fine question," he replies, shrugging off the shirt she'd had the foresight to unbutton.

It's a revelation as the material flutters somewhere behind him. Biceps bulge and his chest is surprisingly muscular. She'd known he had packed on a few pounds but she realizes now that while there is a definite softening around his sides, the mark of too many take-outs, the bulk of this is muscle. Is this what he had done? Had he spent hours lifting, as she had spent hours punching a bag, to release the tension?

"Rectify it," she commands, scooting back up to the head of the bed and yanking off her pants as she goes. He gulps but complies, hops a little and almost falls in his rush to remove both jeans and boxers in one movement.

She smirks as he crawls his way back up the bed, gloriously naked. His erection bobbing and painting quite the picture.

"I wasn't done with you," he grins back, noting where she's fixated. He reaches up and tangles his hands around the lace that edges her panties. "These... have to go."

He tugs her jeans off in one long pull, the action leaving him once again at the wrong end of the bed. He makes up for it by licking his way up her calf, nibbling along her outer thigh, stopping to inhale and place a kiss upon her hip bone.

God, this man is talented.

And then he covers her with himself, lets his weight rest gently against her, uses his elbows to stop himself from crushing her. She doesn't think she'd mind if he did. They are lined up perfectly with his hard length nudging at her core. He presses his open mouth to her chin, her jaw. Places butterfly kisses along her cheekbones and on her fluttering eyelids.

"I'm the one," he breaths into her mouth, abruptly serious. "I'm the one." He sounds a little desperate, like he's trying to tell her something. Prove something to her.

He's the one. Suddenly, the playfulness disappears and the weight of the moment hits her full force in the chest. It's constricting and terrifying for a moment. "Fun and uncomplicated," he had said. God, she has been anything but that. She would like to be though.

Not a bimbo or one of his flavors of the week. Part of what has held her back so long has been the niggling doubt that it would be what she became. It had almost been erased. They had been so close and then he had shown up with a flight attendant and all her old doubts had resurfaced. She realizes now that it has something to do with the truth she kept from him. He'd called her out on it when they had fought and though nothing else had been said, she knows now that Jacinda had been punishment.

This is definitely fun. And what she feels for him is suddenly, so very uncomplicated and clear.

He brushes the hair from where it has fallen across her face, looks at her like he's worshiping at a shrine. He didn't look at Jacinda like that. He didn't look at her at all in reality, his gaze had always fallen back to her own. Dark eyes, gauging her response, a little bitter and a lot broken.

"Kate, I'm the one," he repeats.

And when he looks at her like that, like she's everything, she can't help but forgive him for the lapse in judgment. As she had needed the wake-up call in her apartment earlier, perhaps she had also deserved the penalty for making him wait so long. For pushing him to the point of losing hope. It's brought them to this moment. He's tracing soft circles around her eyes, running a finger down the bridge of her nose, waiting on her to repsond.

When he looks at her like this, her throat constricts and tears well in her eyes because he doesn't have to prove it to her. She can feel it.

"Yes, the one.." she chokes out.

"When you are feeling alone.." He twines both his hands with hers, locks their fingers together above her head. "I'm gonna be here," he whispers, placing one of their conjoined hands over her heart.

Her hips buck up to meet him and all she can do is nod. The earnestness in his voice, the raw need, overwhelms her.

"If you feel like you walls are closing in..." he speaks into her ear and reaches between them. "If it's dark.." He uses his hand to help her touch herself. "If you feel hopeless..." He bites gently on her ear, making sure she's still paying attention. She's trying... really, she is. She wants to hear these words but it's incredibly difficult when all she can think about is how damn close he is and how she could bring about the connection with just a flick of her wrist.

The soft tug on her earlobe is enough to snap her eyes open, slam her gaze back to his. "Don't."

She can only nod. He's claiming her. Slow, torturous, perfect. Multitasking indeed.

"Because..." He takes a long pause and she moans his name, as he slips around dangerously close to where she needs him. He takes a heavy, shuddering breath and looks her in the eye. Holds her gaze as a tear slips from the corner of his lashes and lands on her cheek. She bites on her lip painfully, trying to hold back the emotion and swipes the moisture away from his under his eye. This is it. Their moment. Long years of waiting and holding back about to be put aside. She can't help her own tears pooling, her vision blurring and focusing only on the blue depths that bore into he soul. "Because I'm going to stop them from caving in on you."

"You're the one.." she whispers, raising to meet his mouth in a gentle touch of swollen lips. No tongue. Just feathery contact, heightening all her senses.

"Because I'm inside you now," he utters, adjusting his angle and sliding home, a beautiful smile forming on his face. It looks a lot like victory.

She knows it's been coming for long, torturous minutes but the sudden and complete feeling of utter... fullness... it's shocking. She groans as he fills her up and her muscles spasm involuntarily around him.

"Build them up," he grunts as she pulls back and then raises her hips to meet him again.

"Build them up because I'm the one and I'm already inside, Kate."

Boy, is he ever. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, her breath coming in pants. Uneven and ropey. Her mouth is dry and she blindly raises to catch his lips. She needs to drink him in.

"Open your eyes, Kate."

'Jesus', she thinks. 'How is he carrying on a conversation?' But she obeys. And then she feels it. Magic.

She's having trouble remembering the art of inhale-exhale but they find their rhythm easily enough. Gliding arms and swaying bodies. Tangled legs and waves of pleasure. Unfaltering eye contact. It's building. Crashing over them and swallowing them whole.

"Build a fortress and we'll hole up in it together."

She manages a grunt in response, a roll of her hips. He cups her breasts and again nuzzles at the scar.

"Never again, Kate. I should have been there. I'm the one."

She aches for the needless pain she has caused him. That she has caused herself. They could have recovered together, she didn't have to do this alone. There will be time for playful later, for sweet and slow. This is a time for healing. But first they have to pull apart the old and badly sutured wounds. They have to join them together again, this time minus the secrets and lies.

He pushes into her, again and again, rough and a little savage. Their kisses are sloppy, tongues and teeth clashing. She drags what's left of her abused nails down his back and punishes him for keeping the case from her. For not trusting her to trust him, even though he had probably been right. He pulls on her hair and exposes her neck, drags his teeth down the sinewy column. Bites the bony ridge of her collarbone hard enough to cause a little pain. A penalty for keeping the truth from him.

"Mine."

"God.. yes!" she cries.

"Love you, love you..." he chants as the pace quickens and they both teeter on the edge of ecstasy. He's deep, penetrating, hitting the spot the no other man has even bothered to try and find; and yet he's there as though he's been mapping her every nuance for years.

"I heard you," she cries, sobs. It's too much. Not enough. God, she loves him too. So much. "I heard you, I know. I do. Too. I do too."

He stills and she's fairly sure this is the moment that will decide their destiny. The soft patter of rain and their heavy breathing is the only sound. The smell of sweat and sex is dense and surrounds them. He's hard and throbbing inside her. It's all encompassing. Her inner walls clench tightly, trying to drag him deeper. Half unconscious, half calculated, she's desperate to pull him back to the fall. She wants to feel it when he lets go inside of her.

"Say it." he pleads.

And if this is all he asks, she can. God, she can. It's not scary, and it's not sending waves of panic to her guts. She's never said it before and truly meant it. She's said it out of obligation. Out of recklessness or a hope that maybe if she said it enough she would mean it. She's only said it to two men previously but the third time will be the charm. She knows it. Feels it. Believes and trusts in it.

She really _can_.

She cups his face between two palms and with a steady voice lets it all go. The anger and frustration washed away with three words, the emotions replaced with forgiveness and new beginnings.

"I love you."

And then it's a frenzy of tangling limbs and clenching muscles, slapping skin and wet dissonances, as they ride each other to the brink. His face is a tight grimace of stern concentration. He's so close. She's already there, riding the wave.

"I love you, Rick. I love you. Let go."

And so he does. He breaths unintelligible noises and the lines of his face smooth out and flatten as joy suffuses all the places that had for so long been shrouded in shadow.

They collapse together, a heap of satiated fulfillment. Spent. Content.

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**Well, I don't know about you but I could use a cold shower right about now. I hope it delivered. Stay tuned for some warm afterglow goodness.**

**Big, fat, hugs and kisses to Avi for telling me the original version of this was not nearly good enough. She was right, I was wrong. I can admit it. I thought the eye rolling was a little much though. :P  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Did ya miss me?**

** Sorry about that but I have an excellent excuse! I was fired from motherhood and sent to the Hilton Hawaiian Village for the weekend. Two days of gloriously kid-free relaxation for Mother's Day. Now, you'd think this would make me write more. You'd be wrong. It turns out I take my nightly frustration, after a long day of three small children, homework battles, house cleaning and actual work, and write out all my angst into Castle fic. Give me a stress-free day and I am completely blocked. **

**But yay! I'm back now, fantastically rested but once again full of stress. I still own nothing. It kinda blows. **

**Oh and yes! He got laid. Best husband ever!**

* * *

As consciousness slowly weaves its way in and images of Kate Beckett, naked and in his bed, retreat, Rick gradually wakes and groans at the slat of early dawn sunlight he can feel beating him across the forehead, uncomfortably heating his still closed eyes. It's not new to wake to thoughts of her, she's had him mind, body and soul for years now.

'Five more minutes,' he thinks. Five more minutes of that gloriously realistic dream. Five more minutes of putting it all on the table, of confessions and apologies. Of soft touches and whispers of love.

He stretches, languidly, the pull of overtaxed muscles confusing him until he comes into contact with something solid. Something warm and... moving toward him...

_Oh!_

Not a dream then. A wide and joyous smile spreads across his face, he can feel it tugging on his cheeks, crinkling his eyes. It almost hurts how good this feels. He curls an arm around her waist, tugs her toward him and into his embrace. She lets out a soft _'omph'_ as her body collides with his. She smells like him now. His aftershave and his fabric softener. Aged wood and lavender. He nuzzles into the back of her neck, inhales the still faint aroma of her shampoo. Vanilla and peach. Sweeter and more girly than he would ever expect from her. The combination is intoxicating. Their scents mingling, the faint tang of their lovemaking still permeating the air.

"Mm, Kate... morning," he murmurs into her neck.

She shivers when he sucks on an earlobe and playfully bats around behind herself to make him stop. But the angle is all wrong and she's locked between his forearm and his torso, trapped right where he wants her. She doesn't try very hard anyway.

"Quit it, Castle... tickles."

"You're ticklish?" he asks in excitement. "I am so glad to know this about you!"

She groans and grinds her rear end up against him.

"Hush. I'm still sleeping."

Could have fooled him. The delightful wiggle and nudge against his groin attest to anything but sleep.

"Not doing things like that you aren't," he growls in reply and rolls her over and onto her back. He straddles her and the playful mood disappears as quickly as it had begun when he spies the angry marks that have formed around her neck, across her collarbone, an especially nasty looking bruise near her hip.

"Oh...Kate.."

Her smile fades and he places soft touches to where visible fingerprints have formed, vivid blue and green on either side of her neck. Her soft skin, mottled and angry looking.

"It's nothing, Castle. It's over now."

He runs his fingers down her torso, traces the marks with the backs of his hands, dragging his knuckles lightly across her skin. Now, he wishes he had been more gentle last night, taken more time. It must have hurt her.

"I wish I was there. I'm so sorry, Kate. So sorry."

She smiles again and shakes her head, places her fingertips to his lips. He kisses them, one by one, notes the chips on her nails and the swollen pads. How does she look so serene right now? As he'd drifted off last night..this morning.. he'd feared waking to her in a state of panic. Or worse, an empty bed altogether. Instead, she is the picture of satiated and tranquil. She looks happy, genuinely happy.

"Tell me what happened?" he asks gently, not wanting to ruin the moment but needing to know.

"I was an idiot and I didn't listen to you." She sighs quietly and goes on, "I couldn't. I was just so... angry... at you, at the situation. We'd been so close, you know? And then after.."

He knows what she's referring to. Their fight. It pulls at his gut. The latent ire at her for ignoring him, the guilt for leaving her. Flinging her secret at her in anger instead of understanding. Because he did understand. She had been quietly making herself better for him and he'd thrown it in her face in the heat of the moment. He'd tried to use his love to leverage her, to make her back down from a fight he knew she couldn't win. If he himself hadn't have been so angry he might have realized what a mistake that was. Katherine Beckett is never one to back down from an argument.

"I'm sorry," he mouths, leaning back, letting his weight off her thighs so she can shift to sitting up against the headboard. She nods, looks at her lap and toys with the sheets pooling in her lap. Just for a second, contemplating, but then she continues. She doesn't try to cover herself and he finds this a comfort. That she feels easy enough with him to discuss the hard topics while naked, exposed and in his bed.

"I felt like I'd lost it all, that my case was all that I had left."

She ducks her head and her hair falls like a curtain in front of her face. She'd hiding behind it, he can see the blush creeping up her cheeks. He waits patiently, knows it will be worth it. The sheets rustle softly as she shifts uncomfortably.

"You were right, you know..."

He grins in her direction and tucks the hair behind her ear. Ah, well no wonder it pained her. It's the first time she's ever uttered that phrase, might be the last. He enjoys it for a moment before sobering. Because she's wrong, at least in part.

"Maybe.." he replies, his voice gravelly and rough.

She eyes him warily, bites on her lip and closes her eyes.

"But I never should have used it against you," he says seriously. "I'm sorry." He tips her chin and waits until she's looking at him. "I am."

"I _was_ blinded." she says. "But I was just so desperate to have it over. I wanted it to be over... for us, Castle. I'd been working so hard and I just thought... I thought that maybe it was the universe's way of telling me to put the case to rest. So we could, well... yeah... so we could."

"I know," he soothes, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Urging her to continue. He needs to know. "Tell me about these," he says, tracing the bruises on her neck again.

She stiffens and her gaze clouds over, he looks on as she is overcome by the memories. Her breathing is shallow and fast, coming in short pants, and he can't watch from a distance any longer. He scoots up against the headboard and draws her into his side.

"You don't have to, Kate..."

He wants to know, maybe it's the writer in him, maybe it's just natural curiosity but the obvious distress this is causing her, makes him second guess. Her body is bruised and battered, he can only imagine what her mind is going through. He waits while she burrows into his flank, hoping she will tell him and somewhat dreading what's to come.

"No. You deserve to know," she huffs quietly into his chest. It takes a few agonizing minutes while she gets her breathing back under control. He strokes her hair, gently pulls out some of the tangles that have formed. A side effect of going to bed with wet hair, it didn't seem important at the time but now it pains him that one more thing is hurting her. He gently untangles the knots and waits on her to continue.

And then she tells him. All of it. Of going rogue, of being caught unaware and left alone when Esposito had been cold-clocked. Of giving chase and ending up fighting hand to hand on the roof. Of falling off the edge, hanging by her fingertips.

His heart is pounding and his palms are sweaty just listening to it, he feels nauseous and dizzy. She must sense his growing anxiety because now she is the one soothing. Her palm strokes the line of his jaw, her mouth lays gentle touches to his ear while he regains his composure. He's amazed once again at her strength. That's she's still standing to tell this harrowing tale. That she is comforting him; when by all rights she should be curled up in the fetal position right about now.

"How did you get back up?" he asks.

"Ryan, he caught me just in the nick of time. But that's not the important part, Castle."

She rolls over, so she laying almost on his chest, she toys with the soft hairs there, splays her fingers over his heart. She studies him and he feels the warmth from her eyes suffusing into his soul.

"I was hanging from my fingertips, I was slipping. I knew it was over, that I had finally gone too far and was going to fall." Her grips on his chest tightens. Her fingertips digging into his chest, like she's reliving the moment. "But my life didn't flash before my eyes, Rick." she says, fingers relaxing and breath evening out, smoothing her hand down his bicep. "I didn't care about Maddox... whatever his name is. All I could think about was you."

"Kate," he breathes, dipping his head to kiss her temple.

"I heard you.." she whispers. "I called your name and I could _hear_ you. Castle, you're in my heart, your're in my soul. I can't get you out. In my last moments, I just wanted you."

"Never again, Kate. I promised, 'Always'. I won't leave you again."

"I know," she smiles. "Ditto."

* * *

Making love for a second time comes easy. It's gentle and full. Slow and effortless. They take their time becoming aware of the other, discovering hidden secrets and reveling in unadulterated emotion. Even now, as they shower together, every move they make is in reverence to the other. Soft touches and gentle caresses. Deliberate care and tender affection.

She feels limp, like a rag-doll. Drunk on love and ragged from the exertion her body has sustained in the last few days. Even now, when healing is all that can come of this, she is spent and weary. He seems to sense it. He reaches for the shower gel and gently washes her body, uses his hands instead of a washcloth. He lathers her up and massages her achy muscles, takes special care not to probe or heighten the moment into anything more than what is is. Firm hands, held back with incredible care. A simple shower, a reprieve to wash away the day. He's not looking to arouse, he just wants to help. She thinks she will never tire of his careful ministrations. But it's more than that. Her head lolls back as he skims her back and runs his hands down her calves. It's a cleansing, a purification. Symbolic and touching; bringing a fitting ending and a new beginning. A direct contrast to her solitary soaking in the rain. She's encompassed in his scent as the suds wash down the drain, encompassed in his arms as she sobs and he soothes comforting words into her hair. She's warm and she's content. She's happy. And free. Finally.

"Stay," he says, after she's cleansed, when she's regained her composure. "Enjoy one of the many perks of Casa de Castle; tankless hot water, stay until you are pruned."

He places a soft kiss to her lips and she is thankful for his mind-reading abilities. She needs a moment to decompress, to adjust to their new dynamic; and the multiple jets pulsating down on her aching joints feels divine.

"I'll go make breakfast."

"Pancakes?" she asks.

"Uh... yeah. How did you know?"

She smirks, remembering the awkward morning so long ago, when the boys had given her flack after Castle had stayed the night at her apartment.

"A way of saying 'Thank you _so_ much for last night,'" she recites as he steps out of the shower and onto the mat.

"Katherine Beckett! I never..." He turns around, an astonished regard on his face.

She rolls her eyes and laughs.

"Oh come on, Castle. I know that's what you were thinking."

"Actually..." he grins, "I just happen to make a really good chocolate-chip pancake. But I like the way your mind works."

He lunges back into the stall then, takes her face between his palms and devastates her with a searing kiss. He sucks her lip and trails his tongue along her teeth. Grabs her rear end and squeezes, trails his fingers between her legs and mouths her nipple. A sexy growl emitted against her ribcage. Abruptly, he pulls back, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Placing one last peck to her nose, he hops back out and slings a towel around his waist. She is left gasping and hungry for more. The man is infuriating. He will be the death of her, she is sure.

"I can't believe you remember that," he grumbles, leaving the bathroom. "I can't believe I didn't!"

"The circle is complete," she calls after him. "Now _I_ am the master."

"You quote Star Wars too? _So_ hot!" he yells from the bedroom. "Oh and Kate? Thank you _so_ much for last night!"

Kate chuckles and relaxes against the wall as the spray runs down her body. She could get used to this.

* * *

**Okay, it's up to you dear readers. I could leave it here and call it a nice, fluffy, post-Always completed fic. Or...I could could totally go on another 5, 10, 20 chapters. Who knows? Hit up the review box and let me know. I have some sweet scenes in mind (some sexy scenes too) but I can't promise the most regular of updates. I write as my muse dictates and sometimes she is a royal bitch.**

**Avi and Nic. My Rib and my Hoe-Bag. You rock my world even when you're kicking me in the ass. Kinky! ****What would I do without you?**

**Oh..right. I'd still have the end scene on the infinite loop. It's possible I still have it open in the background just in case I need a quick fix. **


	5. Chapter 5

**You guys overwhelmingly asked for more, so here it is. I cannot thank you all enough for the reviews. I get a giddy little high each time I see one in my inbox.**

**If I owned them, I don't know that I could do any better than Marlowe has so far. I bow down and hope he won't sue me for borrowing them.**

* * *

Kate chuckles and relaxes against the wall as the spray runs down her body. She could get used to this.

She _is_ used to this. Nothing has really changed, they are still their same facetious selves. They'll still spar and argue, and they still have so many issues to work out. But this, this easy connection and playful joining has been too long coming. She turns off the shower and quickly follows. She doesn't need a moment. She is certain. He's the one and she is done.

The wood flooring is cool on her feet as she steps into his bedroom. Her toes curl, as wrapped in nothing but a towel, she scans the room for her clothes. But she finds no evidence, not a scrap. His clothes are still scattered haphazardly around the room

"Castle," she yells, "if this is your way of holding me hostage, it's not funny! I'm naked and you have a daughter to think about!"

"I put them in the wash, they were still wet," he calls back, his voice muffled and almost drowned out of the sound of hip-hop blasting through the loft. "And Alexis is out until at least noon. Go raid my closet, there will be a t-shirt or something you can wear, maybe a pair of sweats."

She laughs quietly, shaking her head at the completely out of character music choice.

'Starships were meant to fly', huh? The singer irritates her and it sounds like a bad metaphor for an overly inflated ego. She could go on and on about how it would be more accurate that starships were made to fall, or maybe pushed by gravity, but she has to admit the tune is catchy and she finds herself swaying a little to the heavy bass. She feels the grin tug at her mouth and bites her lip to suppress a giggle.

She contemplates his walk-in closet but dismisses the idea almost immediately. A pair of Castle's sweats would have no chance of staying up and as thrilling and somewhat teenaged the thought of stealing one of his t-shirts is, she has a better idea. The maroon shirt he had been wearing last night is draped over a large black urn that stands in the corner of the room. Flung carelessly behind him in the heat of the moment, just the sight of it brings warm feelings to her chest and sends tingles south. Yes, definitely the maroon shirt. It'll drive him mad. Payback is a bitch.

She hooks just three of the buttons, and takes a breath before leaving the bedroom. The shirt hangs mid-thigh but wearing nothing underneath she feels exposed and a little nervous. It all feels so very domestic. So very unlike her.

It feels so very right. It's showtime.

She raises her shoulders, rolls them back and down. She's not particularly well endowed but she knows how to work what she's got. She lets her arms rest gently at her sides, elbows slightly bent so her fingertips will brush her hips with each sway of her shoulders. This walk is going to wound him, he'll be putty by the time she's done. She's used it against him before but never in so little attire. He cheeks ache from the smirk that has plastered itself on her face, her heart surges with thoughts of him waiting for her in the kitchen. Placing one foot in front of the other, she makes her way out of the bedroom and through his office. She's determined to make an entrance. She readies he best throaty voice to call his name as she enters.

"Hey, Cas..."

She is brought up short at the sight of him. Wearing only plaid boxers, slung low on his hips, and socks, wielding a spatula like a weapon, he dances his way around the kitchen. The laugh bubbles up from deep in her chest.

He looks ridiculous. He looks adorable. This sweet perfect man of hers. Mine, he had said. Mine too, she thinks.

He weaves his way around the island, tosses chocolate chips into the pan with flair, uses his hip and an exaggerated wiggle to close the fridge door. The scent of melted chocolate and butter, pancake batter, assaults her senses and makes her stomach rumble in appreciation. He turns at the sound of her laughter, surprise coloring his face for an instant before a predatory gleam takes residence in his eye.

A low growl erupts from his lips, deep and sexy. Quickly, he flicks off the stove and sets the pan aside, stalks toward her with a swagger. She straightens, takes a steadying breath and meets him halfway. They collide by a pillar, faces inches apart, eyes ablaze. He leans against it with false bravado, his heaving chest and twitching hands giving him away.

"What..." He trails off to give her an appreciative leer, lets his darkened eyes linger up and down her legs before finally letting his gaze come to a rest somewhere in the vicinity of her mouth. "What are you wearing, Kate?"

"I decided you'd look well on me," she purrs, quoting the lyrics to the buoyant song now playing in the background.

And there it is. The slightly pained, highly aroused look she'd been aiming for. "What's for breakfast?" she inquires cheekily, brushing past him with a light pat on his rear and sweeping into the kitchen to swipe a piece of bacon from where it was left cooling on a plate.

"You."

It's close, exhaled roughly into her ear and she wonders how she missed his quick recovery. It might have been the pull of bacon, she doesn't remember the last time she ate. But she's lost the upper hand. He's behind her, arms reaching around her body and she's trapped between the counter and his torso. Not what she had planned, but she's willing to see where he takes this. She learned last night he likes to be forceful in bed. She learned that she likes it. It doesn't feel like giving up control when she trusts him so implicitly. His erection presses up against her backside, hard and warm through the thin cotton of his shorts. His face closes in on her neck, warm puffs of air sending shivers down her spine. He grinds his pelvis against her, agonizingly slow, letting her know exactly what her outfit is doing to him. All it takes is a flick of his tongue against her neck and she is turning into him, needing to taste him, wanting to feel him against her. Her hands slide up his chest and rest lazily around his neck. She raises on tiptoes to reach his mouth and it has the effect of aligning her above the tent in his boxers. It sends a shudder of pleasure to her center, a flood of moisture to her core.

"I love you," she says into his mouth as their lips join.

She has a lot of making up to do, she realizes. At her declaration, he lets out a gasp of surprise and she is hoisted up and onto the counter in one smooth move. His eyes wide and adoring. Deep blue and curious. He places a quick kiss to her lips, then his mouth snakes it way around her neck, over her shoulders, his face nudging the shirt out of the way as he nuzzles into her clavicle. The music beats heavy and fast in the background, melodic and electronic. Again, she briefly wonders at his taste in music. Briefly, because his tongue is following a winding pattern up and down the underside of her chin. Down the column of her neck. Replacing the marks of her would be killer with ones of his own. Back up again, following the trail he had blazed, back up to her mouth. Warm and wet, needy and insistent. His hands rough against her jaw.

"I'm never gonna get tired of hearing that," he says against the side of her mouth, as his passion subsides. He grazes his cheek against hers, the light stubble abrasive and leaving small pricks of fire in their wake.

"Never gonna get tired of saying it," she replies huskily, nipping at his ear and running her hand lazily through his hair. She runs a thumb over his brow. "I'm not going anywhere, Castle."

His eyes search hers. Looking for what, she doesn't know, but she is content to let him linger as long as he likes. Until he finds what it is he needs. Something about the late morning light, the soft oranges and bright yellows filtering through the blinds, the dust particles floating airily around them, lends an aura on intimacy that was missing in the heated and messy exchange last night. The shower was her chance to let go and find her equilibrium, it seems half-naked while she's propped up on the kitchen counter will be his.

She waits while he studies her. She thinks about their past. And their future. Her hopes and dreams. She lets her love shine through, she feels no need to hide anymore. She thinks about dogs and kids, chocolate labs and lots of babies. She thinks of porch swings and sunsets on beaches. Mainly though, she thinks about him. And she waits.

She sees it the moment he finds what he's looking for. The lines around his mouth smoothing, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. The dark and stormy gray becoming a clear and intense blue.

As if on cue, the music slows. Just the singers voice and a simple piano riff.

_All that counts, is here and now. _

She couldn't agree more.

"This song is actually rather sweet," she says, smiling warmly.

"I know," he says. There's a hint of wonderment, and finally, a heavy dose of belief. "I know," he affirms, tilting his head to the side, a wide grin breaking out on his face.

"My universe will never be the sa.."

She almost makes it. Almost brings back the light banter that is their bread and butter.

But she's interrupted by the slam of the front door and an excited "Dad!" from an all too familiar voice. Dread seeps into her veins, the feeling of a lead brick sinking into her gut is heavy and oppressing. This isn't how it was supposed to go. This is humiliating and more importantly, the last thing Alexis probably wants to see.

They have reached a tentative peace in the last few months but Kate knows that the girl still harbors doubts about her intentions. Harbors some lingering anger about last summer and the pain Kate cause her father. She has every right. If there was an award for the blind and emotionally stunted, it would be named after her.

Chagrined and beet red, she slides down off the counter and into the space between Castle and the counter. She rests her head on his shoulder in mortification. Rick's daughter, in all probability, just got an unobstructed view of her ass. She can't look. She burrows further into his shoulder and closes her eyes tightly.

"Hey, Alexis," she manages to squeak.

"Hey, Pumpkin!" he greets happily, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist so she can't escape.

She punches him not entirely lightly in the side.

"I believe you've met Kate," he laughs.

She raises her head and chances a look in Alexis' direction. She's surprised to not find any anger or hostility. The girls cheeks are bright red, no doubt matching her own, but her eyes sparkle with mischief and she wears a smirk that Kate is left with no doubts about where it came from.

_Huh... _

Maybe she had gained more ground with the girl than she had thought. One eyebrow raises slowly and high on her forehead, another perfect imitation of her father. There is a question in her eyes, a definite spark of protectiveness. It practically shouts, "You hurt him and I will hurt you." But the overriding vibe Kate gets from Alexis is acceptance.

"I'm just gonna.." they both start, pointing in opposite directions. Alexis toward the stairs, Kate toward the bedroom.

"Yeah..." Alexis shudders and shakes her head a little.

She grabs the iPod from the dock on a table by the door and suddenly his odd choice in music is explained. Alexis. Thank god. She can only take so much hip-hop. The last song is still irritatingly running through her head on a loop.

"Yeah..." she echoes.

Pulling from Rick's hold, Kate makes to run for the bedroom, to hide under the covers. Perhaps for the rest of her life. But he catches her wrist as she makes her move, as Alexis reaches the first few steps. He drags her back toward him.

Payback is gonna be a bitch, she thinks.

"Hey, Kate?" he questions with a decidedly evil grin. It's loud enough to catch his daughter's attention and Kate sees the girl stop midway up the stairs.

"Yes?..."

She winces, knowing it's going to be awful.

"I'm glad you came."

The girl snorts and lets out a horrified, "Eww!" before running up the stairs and out of sight. Probably to wash out her ears, Kate thinks.

"Oops." he chuckles, having the decency to at least look a little embarrassed that his daughter overhead that one.

Kate groans and attempts to pull away but he pulls her back into a tight hug. He waits until she relaxes against him.

"Really," he says deeply, with the voice that warms her, gravelly and rough. "Last night..I'm glad you came."

He's not talking about the bedroom. She's glad she came too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Nope, still don't. I'm getting sick of disclaimers. Even if I did happen to be Marlowe, I wouldn't admit it. **

* * *

He lets her go after a few moments. Pushes her toward his bedroom with a promise of breakfast and dried clothes. She's still beet red and he thinks she could use a moment or two to get over the humiliation of being caught by his daughter. Maybe more than a few moments if the pained groan he hears coming from his bedroom is any indication. He could use a minute to go and speak with Alexis, as well. This wasn't exactly the way he had planned breaking the news of recent developments with his daughter. He hadn't had time to make any plans at all. Everything is new and undecided, unspoken. He and Kate need to talk. Really talk, because though he trusts in what she had said last night and again this morning, he still has so many questions. But his daughter comes first and so he makes his way up the stairs, hesitating at her door before knocking lightly.

"It's open," she calls from within.

"Hey, Pumpkin." he says, a little warily. He's fairly sure his daughter has accepted his feelings for Kate, fairly sure she will be happy for him. But still... he hasn't forgotten the hostility she had shown following last summer.

"About downstairs," he starts, walking over to her bed and sitting down next to her. His thoughts get sidetracked as he looks to their feet, his in white socks, hers bare, toes adorned in bright red nail polish. They almost reach the same spot. Once upon a time, he would sit in this same position to read her bedtime stories or to calm her after a nightmare, her legs would barely reach his thigh. He's facing his universal truth right now. His baby girl is all grown up. Will be moving out in the fall. This part of his life is ending. Suddenly he doesn't have the words. Platitude and assurances won't cut it anymore. The young woman sitting beside him is beyond that.

"Actually," he smiles, "instead of me trying to explain, why don't you just tell me what you think?"

"Does she love you?" she asks seriously.

He pulls Alexis into a sideways hug. A moment to gather his thoughts. Stall really. He thinks back to last night, to the clear and shining truth in her eyes. To her heartfelt pleas, her earnest apologies. He feels a smirk pull at his mouth when he thinks to later last night, when she'd begged him to let go. Has a moment of panic and his fists clench as he realizes he had, twice, without any protection. At least not on his part. He has an even greater moment of panic when he realizes he doesn't care, recognizes that there is a giddy little spark of hope rolling around in his gut. Kate might kill him if she was privy to these thoughts. Loving him is one thing, having his babies, entirely another. Still... he's sure. He saw it written in her eyes, felt it in her touch. Actually heard it, in her soft admissions.

"Yeah, Alexis. She does."

Alexis relaxes into him with that. Lets out a soft hum as he strokes her hair and twirls it around his fingers.

"Is she here to stay?"

He thinks to just moments earlier, when he'd made the terrible pun that will no doubt come back to haunt him. When he'd repeated it in all seriousness and she had grinned that serene little smile and nodded softly before scurrying off to the bedroom. She's glad she came too. She's not going anywhere.

"Yeah, I think she is. No. I_ know_ she is," he says, a wide smile forming at the realization.

"Then I'm glad," Alexis replies, "I have just one question?"

He releases her a little so he can look at her face. Waits and raises a brow in query, watches as a cheeky little smiles plays about his daughters lips, an all too knowing smirk and mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Why are you up here, when she is down there?"

His jaw drops, he feels it hanging slack and open. His baby girl! It's alarming to even think that she knows what he was up to when she entered. He'd always tried to keep her sheltered from his love life. But she's not his baby girl anymore, she is in all rights a grown woman about to leave the nest and make her own mark on the world. Every pearl of informed wisdom, every intended pun and knowing smirk has been firmly placed into her psyche by _him_. And he couldn't be prouder. He pulls her back into his side and squeezes her tight.

"Love you, Pumpkin," he murmurs into her hair.

"I know" she replies, making a show of putting in her ear-buds and cranking up the volume on her iPod. Offering him a brash smile.

He pauses, turns to look at her as he rises and leaves the bedside, still can't quite fathom how she grew up so fast.

She smiles affectionately at him. "Love you too, Daddy."

Okay, maybe there's still a little bit of his baby girl left. He squeezes her until she grumbles about the need to breathe and then leaves her to the pile of greeting cards and photographs she had been mulling over when he entered.

He grabs Kate's clothes out of the dryer on the way back downstairs and gets a cheap thrill out of smelling his laundry detergent on her clothes. Something about it just screams intimacy, familial and warm. Completely different and yet just as exciting to him as the more carnal familiarity he had the pleasure of experiencing earlier.

Entering the kitchen, he sets her clothes on a bar-stool and quickly deposits the ruined pancakes in the trash. A pity, he thinks. He would have enjoyed giving her hell over a meal of chocolate-chip, warm and fluffy goodness. "Thank you for last night", indeed.

Still, breakfast can partially be saved. He sets the bacon in the oven, under a warmer, and begins hauling food out of his fridge. Strawberries and mangoes. An apple and three kinds of cheese. Some crackers and a pot of coffee. Mm, a picnic in bed sounds like a wonderful idea. He arranges everything on a tray; fruit, coffee and two mugs, the all-important bacon. He didn't miss the look of bliss on her face as she'd devoured the slice she had stolen. Before he had devoured her.

God, he's happy she likes bacon. It's ridiculous, but it's one more thing he loves about her. None of that non-fat, veggie-based, bacon-shaped, food product was allowed in the loft. Never again. There had been an incident involving Alexis worrying over a few extra pounds he had gained, a surprise breakfast and that god-awful creation. Just the thought makes him gag.

Satisfied with his offerings, he quickly gives the counter a wipe-down so Alexis won't feel compelled if she comes down and throws the dishes in the washer. As an afterthought, he plucks a calla lily from an arrangement on the counter as he picks up the tray and makes his way through the loft. Wearing a pleased smile, he makes his way to the bedroom. His bedroom. Which houses a semi-naked Kate Beckett. The woman he is going to hand feed. In his bed. Half-naked. Kate.

_Best morning ever!_

He quietly makes his way through the office, hoping to catch a glimpse of her unaware. The idea of having her waiting for him, in his bedroom especially, is a new and exhilarating feeling. He wants a moment to take a snap-shot with his mind. He's knows it won't be all sunshine and roses between them, but right now, this morning, it's perfect.

He pads softly toward the door joining the office to his bedroom, it's left partially ajar and he gives up a silent 'thank you' to whatever god felt the need to bless him so. All his stealthy designs would have gone out the window if he had to juggle both the tray and the door handle. He hears humming, lilting and soft, coming from beyond his obstructed view and it takes a feat of willpower not to laugh. She's still got 'Glad You Came' stuck in her head it seems.

He peeks his head around the corner and all the air leaves his lungs.

She lays prone, knees together, legs curved upward and gently swaying to the beat in her mind. Delicate pink polish adorns her toenails and he catches a glimpse with every tap of her foot. It makes him smile. Such an unexpected treat, the color is surprising and not meshing at all with her image of 'bad-ass, super cop'.

So many layers he has yet to learn.

Her nose is buried in a book, the title of which he can't make out. It doesn't matter, he couldn't have imagined a more perfect scene than what she presents in this moment. She's completely unaware, serene, the most peaceful he has ever witnessed her. And all this is occurring in his bedroom. If someone had told him this is what the future held for him twenty-four hours ago, he would have laughed at the folly of it all.

He takes a languid journey with his eyes up her body, makes sure to linger and brand the memory indelible. The mild curve of her ass, only partially covered by the shirt, having ridden up at some point after she lay down, calls to him. Creamy skin and inky shadows. The further darkening as he reaches the apex of her thighs makes his mouth go dry. He can't _see_ anything, but the possibilities send a tightening to his groin. The outline of her torso under the maroon shirt. His maroon shirt. The one she ordered him to remove hours earlier. It thrills him. The smooth line of her neck, marred by bruising but still oh, so inviting, is exposed. Her hair falls in gentle waves down one shoulder and the expanse of skin is begging to be kissed. Bitten. His mouth waters at the thought of taking the shell of her ear lightly between his teeth, sucking the lobe gently into his mouth.

He barely dares breathing for fear of ruining the reverie. He must be dreaming. _Right?_

"Quit staring and get over here, Castle," she orders. She makes no other motion, just continues reading the book and softly tapping her foot.

He can imagine the smirk playing across her countenance right now. He wonders how she knew. He's sure he didn't make a sound, but he doesn't have to be told twice. Quickly, he trots over to the bed and lays the tray carefully on a side-table.

"What are you reading?" he asks, as he eases himself beside her.

"One of my favorites," she replies enigmatically, not looking at him, flipping a page.

"Anything I'd like?" he asks craning his neck. She angles the book away so the writing is blurred and he can't sneak a peek.

"Mm, probably. It was on your shelves after all."

He chuckles, "Most of them are sent to me for a review. Maybe one shelf of them I bought on my own, because I actually wanted to read them."

She briefly shakes her head at him before her gaze returns to the book.

"Wanna know a secret?"

She turns her head to him and raises a brow in question, her lips quirking in amusement. Of course she does, she's a detective.

"I've only read maybe half of them... tops."

"So how do you give your review?"

"Read the dust jacket and pray for accuracy?"

"Castle, that is awful!" she says, lightly smacking him in the bicep.

"Yup. Want me to do that one?" he smirks.

"Oh no, I have a better idea. Let me try."

She slides the book under the covers, still not willing to let him see what she has picked. He assumes it will be embarrassing. Maybe it's a girly romance or a fantasy adventure, he thinks. Something cheesy.

She makes a great show of hemming and hawing before she starts. Bites her lip and taps a finger against her chin. Coy Kate is adorable and just asking for trouble. He plucks the lily from the tray and begins running it down her legs. He tickles her calf with the soft, white petals, drags the stem up her thigh and prods her side with it.

"On with it, woman."

She grins, all sexy and drawn-out, takes a breath and begins.

"A slow starter, that races to the finish line. Perhaps overly ambitious, this young new author shows great promise. Blending the scholarly life with the world of religion, this book manages to pull you in not only to the action, but also to the gripping family drama."

God, it sounds kind of familiar. Really familiar actually. The name is on the tip of his tongue but he just can't quite spit it out. He lets it swirl around in his mind for a few minutes while she waits with a shit-eating grin on her face. Finally, he gives up.

"Alright, lay it on me. I won't judge your tastes." he smirks. "I have no idea what book this is. I'm sure it's one of the many pieces of drivel I get sent. I can't be expected to remember them all you know."

Her eyes widen and then a great chortle of laughter escapes her lips.

"What, exactly, is so funny Miss Beckett?" he inquires, punctuating each word with a prod of the lily. It looks a little worse for wear and he tosses it on the floor. He's delighted by this sudden burst of hilarity in her. Her so rarely sees her simply having fun. That it's at his expense doesn't bother him. He has years of practice taking it, between his daughter and his mother, he's a veritable expert.

But she can't reply, she's too busy trying, and failing, to catch her breath. Tears of joy stream down her face and she is flushed a lovely shade of pink.

"Oh... god, Castle... I can't..." and another ripple of laughter bubbles out of her mouth.

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. He has to know. He makes a swipe for the pillow but her hands bolt up and hold it down.

"Nuh-uh" she snorts, her head falling to the pillow in exhaustion from the sudden bout of goofiness.

"Oh... god..." she mutters, "too... fucking funny."

Such language from such a pretty mouth. 'Fine', he thinks. Time to play dirty.

He jumps up, grabs a strawberry from the tray and straddles her before she has a chance to react. He bites half the strawberry off, revels in the sweet, cool liquid sliding down his throat. With the other half, he trails it around her ear, down her neck.

"Castle, what the hell!" she gasps. But his body holds her down and his mouth, following the path of the sticky juice, calms her jerking movements, sends a breathy moan sailing past her lips.

Suddenly, the books' title holds no interest. Her neck does though. And her shoulders. He slides the shirt up, spies the dip at small of her back. Yes, that could use some attention. His fingers dance up her spine and trace the outlines of her ribs. He thinks she could use a little fattening up. He reaches over to the fruit platter and plucks up a slice of mango, offers it to her with a touch to her mouth. She gratefully takes it from him with her lips. Her tongue darts out to catch his fingers and he can't smother the grunt that escapes. She takes extra time to suckle and bite the pad of his index finger before he removes it from her mouth. Much more of that and he won't make it to the main event.

"This has to go," he hushes into her ear, repeating her remark from last night, reaching in front of her to unbutton and remove the shirt. He drags his nails along the side of her breasts as she raises her arms to let the shirt slide free. As the expanse of her back is exposed he again sees the bruising and momentarily is brought up short by the realization of how close they had come. She almost died and he wasn't there; it's going to take him a long time to reconcile that with his conscience.

He neglects what he is doing for a second and she moans his name.

It's enough to at least momentarily make him forget. Everything except for his name on her lips and the frustrated little growl she produces. He concentrates on making more of those breathy pants. He nibbles his way down the ridge of her spine, biting and soothing with his tongue over and over until he reaches the dip at her tailbone. He rests his hands on either side and laves his tongue over the curve of her ass and down her thigh, repeats the action in reverse upon her other. When he reaches her center he is assaulted by the heady and humid aroma of her arousal.

'Mm, good enough to eat,' he thinks. And so he does.

He uses his hands and his mouth. Soft, slow and involved. Kissing, sucking, worshiping. Her hips raise to meet him with every stroke of his tongue and graze of his teeth. He grips her hips and holds her in place as she struggles against her growing desire.

"Cast..." she moans, "Need you... _in_ me."

"But I'm not done with breakfast," he smiles into her, letting his voice vibrate against her sex.

He hums a little and she shudders. He does it again and her thighs clench. One more time and she is set off. Soft expletives and his name repeatedly fill the air. God is mentioned. A lot. He slides back up her body as she comes down and wraps her in a hug from behind. His erection nudges at the space between her legs, it's just a small rotation of her hips and he is buried. All the oxygen escapes his lungs at the sudden wetness and exquisite warmth. He stills, lets his breathing regulate as she settles onto him, him into her.

"Kate," he whispers. "Look."

Sunlight pours through the large windows, pools on the bed and across their bodies. Slats of light reflect off the dark wood flooring, bounce off the reflective surface on the wall behind the headboard, crate intricate patterns and soft contours. Encompassing them in a soft orange glow. It feels warm and safe like this. Quiet and intimate. He witnesses their reflection in the glass of the frame covering the painting opposite them. Their eyes lock and she entwines her fingers with his. Wraps his arm securely around her waist.

"I'm right here," she breaths, and he begins to move.

They rock back and forth against each other, slow undulations and gentle words. He slides his tongue erotically behind her ear and she takes his thumb into her mouth. They take their time, prolonging the moment. Drawing out the ecstasy. Savoring each other and the sensations they are creating together. He feels like he's drowning in her.

Slowly, it builds. Quietly and unexpected. Urgency and the need for release. He pumps and she grinds. She pulls back and he crashes into her. It's agony. It's rapture. And then it's over, in muted endearments and cottony breaths. Just as quietly as it begun.

She turns her head back then to kiss him. It's wet and sloppy, neither of them having the energy to make much of an effect for finesse. Tongues scraping corners of mouths and lips being pulled and tugged. He slips out of her, as her body arches, and he tugs on her waist so she is facing him. As her head rolls, the pillow slips. He groans, as what he had forgotten about, is revealed.

His very own book stares him in the face.

"_Hell Hath No Fury_? Really?"

She chuckles and kisses his nose.

'Well, no wonder it sounded familiar', he thinks. This is slightly embarrassing. Mortifying really. It's not his best work. Possibly his worst. His assumption that it was a piece of trash isn't too far off. He is beyond curious to know why it is one of her favorites. That's what she had said. "One of my favorites".

"Disregarding the humiliation of not recognizing one of my own works, do you care to tell me why it's one of your favorites? I'm beginning to question your taste in fiction."

She takes the book with one hand and hugs it against her chest, cradles it between their cooling bodies. She cups his face with her other hand and strokes her thumb along his jawline.

"You saved me, Rick. Before we even met, you had already saved me a hundred times over. I didn't need a knight in shining armor. All I ever needed was your words... it's all I need now."

_Oh._

Oh, she has given him a precious gift with that admission. It feels like forgiveness. It eases the guilt that had been nagging him every time he discovered a new bruise or felt the snag of a mangled fingernail. The gut-clenching sickness of not being there as her life hung in the balance. His words. It's all she needs. He has said many words to her, but three specific ones recently. On a bright spring day almost a year ago and in the heat of an argument just days ago. She had disregarded him at the time. It had cut deep, wounded him significantly. But he forgives her, too. Of course he does.

"Always," he promises.

* * *

**A/N: So how you like them apples? **

**As always thanks to Nicole for pointing out my flaws. I had a Castle moment and forgot entirely what I had previously written. But I didn't write "towards" once! It's progress. But it still pains me to write "toward". And to Avi, for promising to hunt me down and do damage if I faded to black before the sexy-times. **


End file.
